aceful and pleasant scene. And see there! We are expected: a small
variegated ball flies up to the top of the lightning conductor, and
the banner of our Union flutters out, displaying its thirteen stripes
and twenty-four stars, and the white American eagle, the thunder of
Jupiter and the symbols of peace in his talons. At the same moment,
Plato and Tully, two of my negroes, come rushing like demented
creatures out of the house, one with a stick in his hand, the other
bearing a pan of hot coals. They are closely pursued by Bangor, who
seems disposed to dispute Tully's title to the embers. In the struggle
the coals fly in every direction; of a surety, the dingy rascals will
burn my house before my eyes. Now comes Philip, a fourth negro, and
tries to snatch the stick from Plato's hand; but the latter is on his
guard, and fetches his adversary a wipe over the pate, that snaps the
stick--a tolerably thick one, by the way--in two. Both retreat a short
distance, and lowering their heads like a couple of angry steers, run
full tilt against each other, with force that would fracture any
skulls except African ones. Once, twice, three times--at the third
encounter, Plato the sage bites the dust before the hero of Macedon.
Confound the fellows! My companions are laughing fit to split
themselves, but I see nothing to laugh at. I shall have them in
hospital for the next ten days. Tully, however, has picked up the pan
and the embers, and is rushing towards a flag-staff near the shore,
from which the Louisianian flag is waving. I see now what they are all
at. They have brought down the Wasp and the Scorpion from on Menou's
plantation, two four-pounders so named, which were taken last year on
board a Porto Rico pirate, and which my father-in-law bought.
Boum--boum--and at the sound the whole black population of the
plantation comes flocking to the shore, capering and jumping like so
many opera-dancers, only not quite so gracefully, and shouting
out--"Massa come; hurra, massa come! Massa maum bring; hurra, massa!"
and manifesting a joy that is probably rendered more lively by the
hopes of an extra ration of rum and salt-fish. And now Monsieur Menou
and his son hurry down to receive us; the steamer stops, the plank is
thrown across, and amidst shaking of hands, and farewells, and good
wishes, our party hurries on shore. Thank heaven! we are home, and
settled at last.

BORODINO.--AN ODE.

STROPHE.

Weep for the _living_! mo